


skin tight

by prouveyrac



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dermatillomania, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panicking, Some crying, heed warnings in a/n, some curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouveyrac/pseuds/prouveyrac
Summary: Sometimes, though, Roman found himself too aware. Too aware of the blemishes on his face and the healing scabs on his chest and back. Too aware of his shirt and sweatpants clinging to his arms and legs, the material rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. Too aware of how his fingers itched but lost all traction. Too aware of how everything was too much.Sometimes, Roman just wished that he could crawl out of himself.





	skin tight

**Author's Note:**

> catch me w/ another self indulgent fic based off of my experiences
> 
> for those of you that don't know, dermatillomania is a skin picking/mutilation disorder. it's something that i myself deal with and, while it is something i have grown used to over the course of ten years, i still have moments like the one seen in the fic. so i felt like writing about it bc i write my feelings a lot.
> 
> i am not a professional, so please don't take my word as official. this is just me writing a situation similar to one i had last year. this in no way represents professional ways to deal with derma, nor does this represent what everyone with derma goes through.
> 
> warnings: a lot of mentions of derma/skin picking (please excess caution as to whether or not that will be triggering), mentions of scratches/bleeding, panicking, crying, some curses, over-stimulation

Usually, Roman was able to keep himself in check with his derma. Usually, he was able to keep his mindset calm and leveled, not allowing himself to spiral into a downwards spiral of overthinking and over-stimulation. Usually, he was able to force himself to stop when something started to bleed.

Usually.

Sometimes, though, Roman found himself too aware. Too aware of the blemishes on his face and the healing scabs on his chest and back. Too aware of his shirt and sweatpants clinging to his arms and legs, the material rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. Too aware of how his fingers itched but lost all traction. Too aware of how everything was too much.

Sometimes, Roman just wished that he could crawl out of himself.

The sleeves of Roman’s shirt were too tight against his arms. With each small movement, each breath, he felt the material cling and shift to his skin, rubbing against him, rubbing against imperfection.

Roman sucked in a strained breath between his teeth and winced at the shirt tightening around his chest.

He knew that, somewhere on his back, a scab that was  _ supposed _ to be healing was bleeding. Soon enough, a small stain would show through the grey material— _ fuck, I should’ve worn a black shirt _ —and it would only scab over again for the same thing to happen tomorrow and-

Roman fisted the edges of his sleeves over his hands. He had his legs drawn up to his chest, his arms hugged tightly around them. He couldn’t control the slight tremble of his hands, couldn’t tolerate the cloth stretched uncomfortably on his skin. His skin crawled with each passing thought, conscious of every blemish and nick.

Roman wanted nothing more than to drag himself out of his skin, to find a way to get rid of every imperfection. Wanted nothing more than to not be able to feel everything resting on the surface of his skin.

Roman, with a shaky breath that pushed tears to the brim of his eyes, released the sleeves around his hands and pressed his fingernails—cut short in a hope that that would stop his persistent scratching and picking but only led to upsetting him even more—into the palms of his hands.

He worried his bottom lip and, without thinking, brought his hand up to scratch at a cut on his chin. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he winced at the sudden sharp pain, similar to that of a papercut, and knew that he just made himself bleed. Again.

Roman’s breathing hitched.

He needed to-

He needed to-

He needed to get out of his room.

Roman didn’t know what prompted him to sink out of his room and, out of all the other rooms he could’ve chosen from, into Virgil’s. Perhaps it was because Virgil understood; perhaps it was because Roman wanted to feel, and what better place to do that than in Anxiety’s room? 

The anxious side had been sitting on his own bed, headphones on with his head slightly bopping to whatever he was listening to. Though the moment Roman rose up into his room, Virgil’s head whipped to turn towards him as he tore off his headphones.

Virgil faltered when he saw Roman, his gaze shifting from slightly annoyed at being interrupted to concerned, his jaw dropping.

“Roman-” Virgil started, the question and the worry already evident in his voice.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Roman rushed out, tacking on a laugh at the end that sounded too choked to be even slightly genuine. He already knew that eyeshadow, probably as dark as Virgil’s, was under his eyes and that the tears pushing against the rims of his eyes were preparing themselves to fall in just a few words. “I just… I’m feeling a lot, Virgil. There’s so much going on and I can  _ feel _ everything and- and I thought, why not come here to feel more! Everything is just-” Roman’s voice cracked and he felt hot tears begin their trek down his cheeks. Virgil’s eyes widened. “-Everything is too much and I- you know and you understand and- and-”

“Roman, stop,” Virgil said, his voice stern as he pushed himself up from his bed. He took a step towards Roman. “I need you to-”

Virgil took another step closer and his hand twitched, as if he was thinking of reaching out to Roman, and before Roman could even process what was about to happen, he cried out, “ _ Don’t touch me! _ ”

His voice echoed throughout Virgil’s room.

Virgil froze and put his hands up, taking a small step back. “I’m not going to touch you, Roman,” he said quietly, “I’m going to stay right here, okay? But you shouldn’t be here.”

“But- but you understand and-”

“No, I mean-” Virgil sighed. “-My room isn’t good for you right now. You’re anxious, right? You’re over-stimulated, I know. But this isn’t where you should be.”

Roman shook his head profusely, rubbing furiously at his eyes. Black makeup rubbed off on his hands. “But my room-” His voice cracked again. “I can’t be in there right now.”

Virgil nodded slowly. “Then let’s go to the living room, yeah? Logan and Patton already went to their rooms.”

Roman nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay, okay,” he forced out, gripping onto the edges of his sleeves.

“I’ll take us there,” Virgil said, “You just breathe, okay?”

Roman nodded again, taking another deep breath—one that really didn’t do anything to stabilize him but Virgil told him to breathe and Virgil knew what to do in situations like this—as Virgil lifted a hand up and snapped his fingers and-

And they were in the living room.

Roman had wished that the heavy feeling that had settled in his chest would have been lifted, that the tears that streaked down his face would’ve ceased, that everything would have stopped feeling too much. Instead, he was met with curling insides, a hand thrown over his mouth to stifle a sob, and the pull of his shirt over his shoulders and his pants over his thighs.

“Ro, why don’t you sit down, okay?” Virgil said, his soft tone a stark contrast to what Roman usually heard. “We can talk now, but you should sit down.”

Roman nodded, biting harshly at his bottom lip as he sat down on the couch, his shaking legs barely supporting him. Virgil sat next to him, leaving the middle cushion in between them as to not further overwhelm Roman. Roman sucked in a sharp breath as tears continued to bead in the corners of his eyes.

“Breathe with me, Roman,” Virgil instructed, leaning over with his elbows resting on his legs. “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, alright?”

Roman’s rushed out a nod and followed Virgil through the exercise. It took him a couple tries, multiple times a hitch interrupting his breathing and setting his count off but, eventually,  _ thankfully _ , he was able to level out. He still felt the twisting of his gut, the tugging on his skin, but he was able to breathe and, for Roman, that was enough.

“Sorry about all that,” Roman finally mumbled after long moments of silence, staring down at his hands as they, once again, curled themselves in his sleeves, “You were probably busy and-”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Virgil interrupted, “You don’t have to apologize.”

Roman nodded, sniffling. He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, most likely doing nothing to prevent them from becoming puffier and a worser shade of red. “Okay,” he said quietly. When Virgil didn’t say anything in return, Roman figured that then was the time to start speaking. “Everything feels too much.”

It was something that Roman had already said a thousand times, but it was something that Virgil understood. Out of the corner of his eye, Roman saw Virgil, still leaning towards Roman, nod. “Did something trigger you? Or are you just having a bad night or…”

Roman nodded. “I’m just thinking too much,” he admitted, “I can feel everything right now. It’s like my nerves are on fire underneath my skin and I can’t do anything to stop it because  _ everything _ is too much and too tight and…” He trailed off, his eyes trained down at his lap.

“And you feel like you don’t have control over yourself, the one thing you’re supposed to have control over,” Virgil finished for him.

Roman sighed, finally looking up at Virgil. “Yeah.”

“I get it, Roman,” Virgil continued, “I mean,  _ this _ in particular I… I don’t have as much experience with, but I know that what you’re feeling is, honestly? Really shitty.” At that, Roman huffed out a laugh and Virgil gave him a smirk. “Yeah, that’s an understatement, I know. But… I just want to tell you that I get it, Roman, I understand.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“The breathing exercise helps,” Virgil said with a small shrug, “But sometimes even that… isn’t enough.” He paused. “The hoodie makes things easier, though.”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows and eyed Virgil’s purple hoodie. “The hoodie?”

Virgil nodded, thumbing the material at the end of his sleeves. Roman, from how close he was to Virgil, could see the exact spot on his hoodie that he constantly fumbled with, his thumbs having worn down the fabric. “It’s… alright, not to make this more angsty than it already is, but it’s soft, you know? It’s this… it grounds me. It’s not constricting or heavy, it’s…”

“Reassuring,” Roman filled in.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, that.”

Once again, Roman eyed the hoodie. For all this time, he just thought Virgil wore a hoodie because he was  _ Virgil _ . Virgil wasn’t the one to wear cardigans or ties or formal attire. When Virgil wore the black hoodie, Roman thought it was just because it was there in Virgil’s closet; nothing more, nothing less. With the purple one, Roman honestly thought it was just Virgil trying to fit in with the purple hair.

He hadn’t even considered the hoodie being Virgil’s clutch, being Virgil’s life jacket in times when he was feeling exactly what Roman was.

“Oh,” Roman murmured, looking over the hoodie, looking over the way it seemed to swallow Virgil,  _ protect  _ Virgil.

“Don’t look so longing, I-” Virgil broke off with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, “-I- I had this idea and—and don’t think too into this, Princey—but I thought of it when you told us about this and…” He sighed again and Roman arched an eyebrow. “And I thought it could help you when you get anxious, overwhelmed, shit like that.”

“What did you think would help?” Roman asked slowly. He had a feeling he knew what Virgil was getting at, but a part of him didn’t want to jump to conclusions, the other part of him wanted to hear Virgil say it.

“I- I thought of one for you. A hoodie. I made it for you and, like, you don’t have to like it or even wear it, like, I get it if it’s stupid but I just thought it could help and-”

“Oh, I am  _ not _ letting you talk yourself into some anxious spiral,” Roman cut in, “We’ve had enough of that already.”

Virgil laughed slightly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. He then hesitated, his expression turning sheepish as he worried his bottom lip. “But if you really don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it. I won’t be offended.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that,” Roman said, “So, come on, where is it? I’d love to see what your creativity looks like.”

“Okay, but don’t laugh-”

“Virgil,” Roman said, softening his tone, “You made me something. You sat down and thought of something for me because you know that I can get a bit anxious myself. You made me something that’s typically your thing because you wanted to help me.” He gave Virgil a smile. “I would never laugh at that. Especially not after everything you just did for me.”

Virgil smiled back. “Well, alright,” he said and then, with a wave of his hand, presented a hoodie to Roman. 

Similar to Virgil’s first one, it was mainly black, however this one was a pullover instead of a zip-up. The only splash of color on the otherwise dark material was Roman’s emblem embroidered over where his heart would’ve been. It was visibly bigger than any other sweatshirt Roman would’ve owned, but he assumed that Virgil knew the comfort of wearing clothes that were sizes too big.

“Virgil,” Roman said, amazement filling his voice. He took the material and found that it was soft under his touch. The exterior was gentle and the cottony interior was even more so. Roman stared down at the hoodie in his hands, unable to piece together why something so simple brought him so much astonishment, yet maybe it was because it was  _ his _ and was  _ made _ for him. He then looked up to Virgil, eyes wide. “Thank you.”

Virgil’s face flushed. He averted his eyes, shrugging. “It’s really nothing.”

“That’s not true!” Roman hugged the sweatshirt close to his chest. “You… made me this and you wanted to help me! That’s… that’s not nothing at all, Virgil.”

“Well, don’t say anything more until you try it on. I don’t even know if it actually works.”

Roman arched an eyebrow, not entirely sure was Virgil meant by ‘actually works,’ as if the hoodie had another function other than, well, being a hoodie. Still though, with a snap, Roman switched from the tight long sleeve into the hoodie.

Suddenly, Roman understood what Virgil meant. The moment Roman changed, it felt as if every nerve in his body quieted down. The stimulation that had been crawling through his skin evaporated, leaving only a soft, comforting feeling in its wake. It didn’t feel like Roman was being choked anymore and Roman, relieved, exhaled easily.

Leave it to Anxiety to make a hoodie that calms anxiety.

Roman then turned to Virgil with a grin. “You know, Edgelord, you’re really good at this whole comforting thing,” he said, tugging the sleeves around his hands.

“Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to keep,” Virgil said, though Roman didn’t miss the smile on his face.

“Yeah, not like we would want, say, Patton to know that you have a heart.”

“Shut up before I take that back.”

Roman laughed before standing up, glad to find that he was able to do so without trembling. “Well then, I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said, “Goodnight, Virgil.” Roman paused. “And thank you.”

“Night, Roman,” Virgil said with his typical finger salute, “You know my room’s always open.”

Roman, content, smiled and sunk out.

**Author's Note:**

> ethospathoslogan.tumblr.com


End file.
